In those fragile years after the close of The Great War, a writer decided to articulate the failure of conventional
ceremony to comfort some of those who had lost loved ones. This writer existed at the very heart of the establishment.
He had penned war epitaphs. He had lost his son. He had stood on the turf of the war graves of Europe at the close of
The Great War, looked around him and noticed the suffering of women who had made different choices and had been forced
into the unhealthy world of secrets and cover-up.
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